


You Always Knew

by gayruto



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Implied Naruto/Hinata - Freeform, M/M, POV Second Person, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayruto/pseuds/gayruto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd probably be unhappy if he knew, so you don't tell him about the way the bile rises in your throat when he's with her. It's in your blood to be sacrificial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Knew

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feelin' bittersweet. The rating is only because of certain implications, but it may eventually go up.
> 
> 5/24/15 - scratch that im probably not gonna continue this

You didn’t think to ask when he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go. You were too confused. His eyes were closing, his head was pressing against your shoulder, and you were fucking _confused_. It was the slow way his thumb rubbed circles on your skin that had your face pinched in empty thought. No answer was forthcoming.

After an hour—he wakes up and you’re leaning away from him in a pretend sleep—he lets go of your hand and you wonder if the room had always been that cold. The temperature drops further when he gets up and exits the room.

Maybe that’s when you start to wonder about certain things.

* * *

 

He still doesn’t say anything about it when he starts putting his arms around you at random intervals. The space between each hug—days, weeks, hours—is blank. He’s imprinted on you, but he still doesn’t say anything about it. As if that’s the way it should be.

As if you don’t stay up at night thinking about how cold your apartment is and how warm his body is.

* * *

 

You don’t really say anything when he starts looking at _her_ like _that_. It seems irrelevant and uninteresting and insignificant. You _do_ notice that he hasn’t come over in weeks, and when you ask him what’s he been up to he turns red and the words come out like broken glass or a sharp thing to the stomach.

You don’t really _say_ anything but you _think_ about it _so much_.

* * *

 

When you sit together on the bench, you think about pressing your shoulder into his. It’s been a while since he had the audacity to invade your space and you’re sensitive to the cold.

When she comes back and he says waves goodbye, the opportunity is crushed and thrown into a seizing river somewhere. You don’t look for it, you just fist your hands into your pockets and walk in the opposite direction.

* * *

 

The dirt is bitter in your mouth when he forces your head down. A single slipup in front of him is asking for a defeat, you know that. You know that but it’s hard to grit your teeth through the unpleasantness and your mind becomes dull and tired when you look at him.

His eyes and lips keep reminding you that glancing into his window on your way home the week before had been a grave error. You never trained yourself _not_ to memorize the details and now they’re like splinters behind your eyelids when you blink. When you barely manage to block a swift kick to the head, you realize just how weak you’ve become.

And you remember how she _moaned_ his _name_.

* * *

 

You didn’t like the things he whispered to you and the way they made you shiver. Innocent nothings, an insult and a laugh, but they were meant for only you and not much of him was only yours now. None of him was ever really yours.

You wonder if he can feel this particular ache like he felt all the others.

* * *

 

It’s dark outside and the snow is falling in clumps, and it’s the first time in a long time that he’s set foot in your room. You pretend to read the scroll on your lap, as if you can’t _feel_ it when he smiles at you, as if you can’t taste his laughter like the hardest pill to swallow. He’s telling you about his day and your ears conveniently mute out the one name that will ruin everything.

When he sits down, the bed sinks and you sink. You apartment is usually so cold. He sprawls out on his back next to you, yawning and closing his eyes. You tell him he’s an unwelcome nuisance as you let your toes brush against his hips. He calls you a liar in his half-conscious, thick voice. His breath slides into a slow rhythm, and you lose yourself for a long moment in staring at his chest, the way it rises and falls.

You don’t remember what the scroll in your hand says, so you set it aside along with any semblance of a working mind and turn off the lamp. You tell yourself you’re too tired to make either of you move to the couch, so you lie next to him with your fingers intertwined at your chest. Your eyes don’t close because they know how unsettling the idea is to you right now. He stirs next to you, and your shoulders brush.

You’re losing your wits. You realize this because you make the mistake of turning to face him, and now his closed eyes are staring at you and the tickle of his breath against your lips is creating a swirling sensation in your gut. You think you’re going to be sick, but you don’t turn away.

You get closer.

His forehead is against yours and you wonder if your skin is cold enough to wake him, or if it’s actually feverish the way your warm, sweaty palms tell you.

When it happens you don’t know who moved first, if it was an accident or not, but your lips touch and his eyes flutter open.

You move closer as your chest caves in.

**Author's Note:**

> BTW--I don't actually know if I'll make this into anything more than what it is, but I'm checking it off as a probable possibility. I'll try, because I haven't posted anything in literally years and I'm so mad about that. Don't expect anything soon, though.


End file.
